Julie James - About That Night

Witness, she reminded herself.

He stopped at Rylann’s table. “I see that you’ve had the non-pleasure of meeting my sister.” He gestured, making the introduction. “Jordo, this is Rylann Pierce.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow pointedly at Kyle.

He glared.

An entire dialogue seemed to pass between them.

Then Jordan extended her hand warmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rylann. Please let me know if there’s anything I can get you.” She pointed to the chalkboard. “I’ve got a great cabernet open tonight.”

“I see that. Actually, I think all the Kuleto Estate cabs are great,” Rylann said. “The India Ink is probably in my top five wines.”

Jordan pulled back, impressed. “You speak wine, I see.” She nodded approvingly at Kyle. “I like her already.”

“Jordo…” he said warningly.

“What? That was a compliment.” She turned back to Rylann. “Question: you’re not secretly a money-grubbing skank, are you?”

Kyle looked pained. “My God, Jordan.”

“What? It’s a fair question given your past predilections.”

Rylann smiled at the dynamic between the two of them. “Your brother is safe with me. We’re not together, we’re just…” She paused, looking at Kyle and trying to decide how best to describe their situation, since she had no clue whether he’d mentioned to his family that he was working with the U.S. Attorney’s Office. “…old friends,” she finished.

Jordan raised a skeptical eyebrow at Kyle. “Old friends with the U.S. Attorney’s Office? Sure.”

“The wine, Jordo?” he said pointedly.

She flashed them both a grin. “Coming right up,” she sang cheerfully as she walked away.

Kyle took a seat in the chair next to Rylann. “Sorry about that. For years, my sister has labored under the impression that she’s funny. My father and I have humored her in this.”

Rylann waved this off. “No apology necessary. She’s just protective of you. That’s what siblings do—at least, I assume it is.”

“No brothers or sisters for you?” Kyle asked.

Rylann shook her head. “My parents had me when they were older. I asked for a sister every birthday until I was thirteen, but it wasn’t in the cards.” She shrugged. “But at least I have Rae.”

“When did you two meet?”

“College. We were in the same sorority pledge class. Rae is…” Rylann cocked her head, trying to remember. “What’s that phrase men always use when describing their best friend? The thing about the hooker and the hotel room.”

“If I ever woke up with a dead hooker in my hotel room, he’d be the first person I’d call. A truer test of male friendship there could not be.”

Rylann smiled. “That’s cute. And a little scary, actually, that all you men have planned ahead for such an occasion.” She waved her hand. “Well, there you go. If I ever woke up with a dead hooker in my hotel room, Rae would be the first person I’d call.”

Kyle rested his arms on the table and leaned in closer. “Counselor, you’re so by the book, the first person you’d call if you woke up next to a dead hooker would be the FBI.”

“Actually, I’d call the cops. Most homicides aren’t federal crimes, so the FBI wouldn’t have jurisdiction.”

Kyle laughed. He reached out and tucked back a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes. “You really are a law geek.”

At the same moment, they both realized what he was doing. They froze, eyes locked, his hand practically cupping the side of her cheek.

Then they heard someone clearing her throat.

Rylann and Kyle turned and saw Jordan standing at their table.

“Wine, anyone?” With her blue eyes dancing, she set two glasses in front of them. “I’ll leave you two to yourselves now.”

Rylann watched as Jordan strolled off. “I think you’re going to have some explaining to do after I leave,” she whispered to Kyle.

“Oh, without a doubt, she’s going to be all up in my business over this.”

Rylann laughed. Then she gave her glass a swirl, opening up the aromas of the wine and checking its hue. It gave her a convenient excuse to look away from Kyle.

The scruff was killing her.

Time to get down to business. “So about this case…”

TRY AS SHE might to hide it, Kyle hadn’t missed Rylann’s reaction when he’d touched her.

She was in lawyer mode again, naturally, asking him about Quinn and various things he’d noticed at MCC. But he wasn’t a fool—moments ago, he’d seen the flare of heat in those gorgeous amber eyes. The spark he’d felt between them the night they’d met was still there, no doubt, but she was either fighting it or playing hard to get.

So he played along, answering all her questions like a good little ex-con. Whether he’d ever seen Quinn showing any favoritism to certain inmates, whether he’d heard rumors about any such favoritism, and if he had any idea who, out of all the inmates, had been most tapped into the gossip and thus might know more than he did.

Somewhere along the way, he found himself getting a little…distracted. Maybe it was the way her hair spilled over her shoulder as she leaned forward to jot something down on her legal pad. Or how her cheeks had picked up a rosy flush as she continued taking sips of her wine. Or possibly it was the lovely, slender curve of her neck as she rested her head on her hand while listening to him.

Mostly, though, it was just the direct way she held his gaze and listened to him, as if they were the only two people in the room.

“I get the impression I wasn’t much help to you tonight,” he said when she appeared to be wrapping up with her questions.

Rylann swirled her glass on the table. “It was a long shot. Agent Wilkins and I have been striking out all week with this.”

When she took another sip of wine—her glass almost empty—Kyle knew that the interview portion of this evening had come to an end. Which meant that it was time for him to take things up a notch.

He gestured to her wineglass, starting with a softball question to warm her up. “So is wine something you got into when you lived in San Francisco?”

She nodded. “I knew nothing about it when I first moved there from Champaign. But most of the people I hung around with drank wine, so I slowly began drinking it more often, figuring out what I like. And what I don’t like.”

Now time for a not-so-soft question. “You never did tell me the whole truth about why you left San Francisco.”

She glanced at him sideways. “Why are you so interested in that?”

“You know so much about me, it seems only fair.” Kyle decided to go for broke. “Did it have something to do with a guy?”

For a moment she seemed to debate whether to answer this. “Yes.”

“Is he still in the picture?”

“No.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t glad to hear that. “Not very talkative about this subject, are you?”

“Maybe instead we could talk about your breakup with Daniela.”

Kyle rested his arm on the table, leaning closer to her and speaking in a lower voice. “And maybe, just once, you could restrain yourself from turning one of our conversations into a verbal tennis match.”

Her eyes held his for a moment, as if she were considering this, then she looked away and gave her wineglass another swirl. “My ex-boyfriend and I broke up after he decided he wanted to move to Rome. With or without me.”

“Sounds like your ex-boyfriend is a douchebag.”

Rylann smiled at that. Then, quite deliberately, she shifted away from that topic by checking her watch. “Well, look at that. I think you and I finally managed to break our eight-minute record of getting along.” She took her last sip and then set her glass on the table. “Speaking of time, I really should get going.”

“That’s right, you mentioned earlier that you have plans tonight. Hot date?” Kyle asked.

Real subtle, asshole.

“I’m just going to the movies with Rae,” she said. “We’re seeing The Hunger Games at eight thirty.”

Kyle checked his watch. “Eight thirty? You still have time.” He looked straight into her eyes, deciding to go for broke. “Stay for a little longer, Rylann.” His voice turned huskier. “We’ll have another glass of wine and catch up. That’s what old friends do, isn’t it?”

She studied him for a long moment.

Too long.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she finally said. “I wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea about our situation.”

Kyle looked around the wine store—there was only one other table of customers, and they weren’t paying any attention to them. So by “people,” she obviously meant him.

“The situation?” he asked.

“You know, the whole lawyer-witness thing.” Her tone was casual, but her eyes held his quite directly. “I wouldn’t want anyone to think there was something going on here. Because that couldn’t happen, obviously.”

Right. That situation.

Kyle took a sip of his wine as the meaning of her words hit him.

It didn’t mean a thing, he reminded himself. She was just one girl.

“Of course.” He threw her an easygoing grin. “Actually, I was just trying to avoid having to get back to the whole mess of network connection problems waiting for me in Jordan’s office.”

“Oh. Sorry I couldn’t help you out with that.” Rylann stood up and threw the strap of her briefcase over her shoulder. “So…I’ll be in touch if there’s any development in the Quinn case.”

Sure she would. No clue how long that might be. “You know how to find me, counselor.”

“Right.” She smiled in farewell. “Thanks again for meeting with me. I promise to stay out of your freakishly lustrous, shampoo-commercial hair. At least for a while.”

After she left the wine shop, Kyle sat at the table, playing distractedly with his glass.

“She didn’t want to stay?”

Kyle looked up and saw Jordan standing at the table. For once, shockingly, she didn’t appear ready to harass or needle him.

“She had plans with a friend,” he said with a shrug.

“You’ve never introduced me to a woman before.”

Kyle shook his head. “It’s not like that, Jordo,” he said. “Rylann is just—”

“—an old friend.” With a soft smile, she reached out and ruffled his hair. “Got it.”

AS IT TURNED out, Rylann wasn’t quite as good as she’d thought she was.

Over the last five years she’d prosecuted cases, she’d become quite skilled at reading defendants and their lawyers at the initial court appearance. Given Quinn’s obvious nervousness, she’d originally predicted that his lawyer would be calling her within two weeks to negotiate a plea agreement.

Instead, it took him two weeks and three days to make that call.

“I’ve read the FBI reports,” Michael Channing led in shortly after Rylann answered the phone. There was a touch less bravado in his voice in comparison to the last time they’d spoken at Quinn’s arraignment. “I’d like to talk about a plea bargain. In person. My client has something he wants to say.”

“How about tomorrow?” Rylann asked. “I’m in court in the morning but can make myself available later on. Say, two o’clock?”

“Two thirty,” Channing said brusquely.

Clearly, it was going to be one of those kinds of discussions.

THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, Rylann sat across the table from both Quinn, who looked uncomfortable in his navy suit, and his lawyer, who looked put out and cantankerous, per usual. She’d reserved one of the conference rooms for this meeting—no need for them to see the mountain of files on her desk. Today she wanted to convey the impression that this case was her top, and only, priority.

“You said you wanted to talk?” Rylann began.

Channing gave his client a go-ahead look. “It’s okay. Anything you say here is inadmissible at trial if we don’t come to an agreement on a plea.”

Quinn glanced mistrustfully at Rylann, appearing to want confirmation of this.

“He’s correct,” she said. “Unless you were to take the stand at trial and perjure yourself. Which I strongly recommend against doing.”

Quinn ran his hand over his mouth, then rested his hands on the table. “You’ve got this whole thing with Darius Brown wrong, Ms. Pierce. It’s not what you think.”

Rylann’s face remained impassive. “How so?”

“I never told Watts to kill Brown,” he said emphatically. “I only told him to rough the guy up, that’s all. You know, teach him a lesson.”

“That was some lesson.”

“Look, Brown attacked me first. You can’t have that in prison. You get too much of that and the inmates will be running the damn asylum.” Quinn attempted a smile, then it faded when he saw that the serious expression on Rylann’s face remained unchanged.